As a postscript to yesterday's astonishing admission that I had to break into my own hotel room having been unable to, as I thought, unlock the door. Turns out I was pushing said door instead of pulling it. I may be going through some slow regressive process whereby I eventually turn into a slow, slobbering ape like creature confused and challenged by everyday objects...but happy enough in my ignorant state none the less. Is this the comedy ending that fate has in store for us all? If so I will continue my struggle, I'll eat more fish (the grilled sea bass was fine), listen to more new music from the current century, read books with no pictures, take brisk walks and practice mental arithmetic. I'll also approach difficult doorways with a better attitude and have proper conversations with myself rather than fall into the trap of chatting to myself with small talk and circular, puerile gossip. I may drink copious amounts of draft craft beer to dull the dull pain of existence. I'll also doodle diligently in Sharpie and photoblog each piece I produce. There that's better already.
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